Bookshops, Bullets and Broken windows
by Thistlefang
Summary: He could hear something – the sound of sirens and a fast approaching car, mingled with short bursts of another noise. Strange, it almost sounded like... Oneshot - Human!AU. Rated T for character death - maybe.


Bookshops, Bullets and Broken Windows

The little bell above the bookshop's worn green door jingled as he pulled it closed, locking it and pocketing the key. It was just past seven, an hour before the regular closing time, but it had been a long, slow day and Arthur had decided to head home. It was one of the few times he had ever done so, but he felt like he deserved it just this once. It was like Francis said – he worked too much.

He frowned to himself as he caught sight of his scruffy blond hair reflected in the shop's dull little window, doing his best organise it a little but giving up when he realised there was no point. The harsh December wind would throw it back out of place soon enough anyway.

Gazing along the quickly darkening street, watching as a few street-lights buzzed and flickered to life, he paused. He could hear something – the sound of sirens and a fast approaching car, mingled with short bursts of another noise. Strange, it almost sounded like...

Arthur didn't register the fast approaching van, closely followed by three or four police cars. He didn't register the sounds of gunfire or the bullets peppering the walls and door of the bookshop behind him, nor the sound of glass shattering as the window burst into smithereens. He didn't even register the sounds of a woman standing on the other side of the street screaming and pointing at him. Arthur was much too focused on the sudden white-hot pain blooming in his abdomen.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he stood there, a faintly puzzled expression crossing his face. Then he looked down. Down to the deep scarlet patch of blood blooming across the front of his jacket. The bewilderment twisted into terror. He opened his mouth to speak, but rather than words blood bubbled up, running down his chin like dribble. He heaved, a rattling noise escaping his throat as the action brought him to his knees.

A woman who had been standing across the street rushed over, babbling something about help coming. He knew she was trying to stay calm for both herself and him. It wasn't working. Somehow he knew this was it. He wasn't going to make it home. He wasn't going to be there for his son Alfie's birthday tomorrow, he wasn't going to make it out on Saturday night with Francis, he wasn't even going to be able to sit amongst the towering stacks of books in his little shop. He wasn't going to do anything else, ever again.

He smiled sadly to himself, slumping back onto the pavement. The stranger held his hand, murmuring soothing words and assurances that everything would be fine. He motioned to her to come closer then gurgled out a few words.

"Tell them... I'm sorry that... I couldn't be there."

He smiled softly once more, before sliding his pain-dulled green eyes closed. He just needed to rest for a little while. He'd be fine after some sleep. He was always being told he didn't sleep enough...

* * *

Cherry blossoms drifted gently in the wind, like cotton-candy rain falling onto the short yellow-green grass. Beams of light shone through the branches, dappling the small cemetery hill and the stones that stood atop it with flecks of golden. A lanky teenager stood in front of one of the stones, glasses reflecting the dancing pink petals as they twirled in the breeze.

"Hey dad, How are ya?" Alfie asked softly. "Sorry I didn't visit earlier. I would have but I had stuff to do and... yeah."

He paused for a moment, looking down at the small marble headstone, staring at the smiling photo of his father embedded into it. It had been almost three years since he had passed away and Alfie still took the time to visit as often as possible.

"It's great to see you again, though. You're missing out on so much. You should have seen yesterday! It was complete and utter chaos! Uncle Francis thought it would be a good idea to turn the living room into a... well I don't even know what exactly, but there were pink satin curtains and flower petals everywhere. Then again, you know how all-out he goes for April fools day. We had to take it all down, of course, but still... it was hilarious."

He came to a halt again, wiping a stray tear from one eye as he was met with only the same deafening silence he always was. He laid one hand on the stone, kneeling and gently placing the bouquet of flowers he was carrying at the base, then stood back up and dusted off his jeans.

"I need to go now... I'm sorry this had to be so short, but I'm meeting a friend from school. I promise I'll come back soon though. I... I miss you. Bye dad."

* * *

A soft smile played at Arthur's lips. It was good to see his growing up, moving on. It had been agony sitting back and watching, unable to make his presence known as his friends and family stood above his grave crying, mourning, apologising or telling stories. He had looked on over it all, bound to his final resting place, nothing but a shadow. A ghost.

To begin with he hadn't understood _why_ – the how wasn't important to him, having never particularly questioned unusual happenings during life. He didn't have any true 'unfinished business' that he was aware of. He wasn't able to change anything in the living world, hell, he couldn't even leave the fifty meter radius of his grave.

It was in the moment that Alfie hadn't come as regularly as he regularly did, and when he had said he was meeting a friend that Arthur realised exactly why he was still watching. He wanted to see that he hadn't ruined the teenagers life. He wanted too see his son happy no matter what.

Triumphantly he realized that he'd seen exactly that. Alfie was fine now. He had his uncle and cousin to look out for him. He had His own life and his entire future ahead of him. Arthur wasn't needed any more – he hadn't been for over three a warm grin Arthur stood up from where he had perched on top of his stone. For a moment he could imagine the feel of the warm sun and the breeze on skin he no longer had, as though he were alive again. The feeling didn't last long – no more than an instant – before he turned to walk away towards the something that was beckoning him from a place only the dead can see.

* * *

_God knows what is hiding in this world of little consequence,_  
_Behind the tears, inside the lies,_  
_A thousand slowly dying sunsets._  
_God knows what is hiding in those weak and drunken hearts,_  
_I guess the loneliness came knocking,_  
_No one needs to be alone, oh save me..._

* * *

**A/N: **Hey everyone. I just wanted to say thanks for reading that little piece of sappy rubbish heheh. Anyways, if you think I should write more Hetalia, tell me lol. Reviews are always much loved, as are all of the silent readers :) Bye and thanks for reading once again - Thistle~


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